


Flip The Switch

by SolarPoweredFlashlight



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Aftercare, Consensual Sex, F/F, Impact Play, Lingerie, Masturbation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Morning Sex, Oral Fixation, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Strap-Ons, Teasing, Violent Sex, breath play, watching while showering
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:15:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26802766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SolarPoweredFlashlight/pseuds/SolarPoweredFlashlight
Summary: A collection of post-canon smut drabbles of various scenarios between Catra and Adora; set after my fic 'Aftermath', this is where I'll put any smutty 'bonus scenes' that didn't end up in that fic but are still bouncing around in my head and looking to be written. Catra and Adora are both switches and enjoy flipping back and forth and learning about themselves and each other in the process.
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Comments: 151
Kudos: 718





	1. In Heat

They’re naked in bed, which is not unusual, and Adora is running her fingers over Catra’s body lazily, which is also not unusual. 

Adora’s touch stirs something inside of her - again, pretty standard - but Catra can tell it isn’t just a normal stirring. It’s just a little too cloying and hazy and intoxicating of a pleasure for how simple and innocent Adora’s touching is, and she realizes absently that it must be that time again. Her breath hitches and she gets a little wiggly. 

“Mm,” Adora remarks, kissing her temple. “You stopped purring.”

“Did I?” Catra asks, and there is a definite teasing twist to the words she didn’t mean to put there. Yep. Okay. Definitely that time again. 

Adora regards her thoughtfully, then strokes her knuckles down Catra’s throat in a way that has Catra arching up into the too-gentle caress. 

“I think,” Adora says carefully, “I have a theory.”

“Oh yeah?” Catra murmurs, feeling heat pooling between her legs. Adora’s so talkative. Maybe she can convince her to use that mouth for better things. 

“Well…” Adora muses, and now her fingers are dancing over Catra’s chin, gliding over her lips, and Catra finds her mouth comes open of its own volition, wanting those fingers inside of her in any way she can get them. “I’ve figured out that I always get hornier right before my period, since Glimmer mentioned that was a thing.” Catra  _ smiles.  _ She likes when Adora uses words like  _ horny.  _ She’d have been bright red and choking on the first vowel even a year ago. Adora’s fucking cute when she’s all bashful, but Catra is kind of pleased that they’ve gotten past a lot of that embarrassed newness after a year and a half of being in a relationship. 

“Uh huh,” Catra encourages, wanting Adora to get to her point so that she can flip her onto her back and climb on top of her and maybe, hm, maybe ride her fingers, yeah, that sounds nice - 

“And you don’t really get periods, exactly, at least not like me and Glimmer do,” Adora goes on, watching Catra’s face and seeming unfazed when Catra gently bites one of her wandering fingers for the crime of whispering softness when what she really wants is something a little more  _ fulfilling.  _ “But I’ve noticed that every three or four months you get like… a week or so where you're suddenly - “ Catra nips the fleshy part of Adora’s hand at the base of her thumb, and Adora gasps and laughs and says, “ - suddenly much  _ brattier.”  _

“Adora,” Catra whispers, her voice low and husky and rattled with amused disbelief, “we’ve been fucking for a year and a half and you’re only  _ just _ figuring out that I go into heat?” 

_ This  _ makes Adora’s face turn red. Oh, what a perfect, sweet, wonderful idiot. Catra loves her so damn much. 

“It started this morning, didn’t it?” Adora asks, deflecting from the statement of her absolutely adorable obliviousness. She successfully distracts Catra by running her palm down Catra’s throat, down between her breasts, along her stomach, and - ugh,  _ fucker,  _ pulling it away before putting it where Catra  _ really _ wants it. 

“Uh huh,” Catra confirms, a breathless, greedy smirk flashing across her face as she grabs for Adora’s hand. “What’re you gonna do about it?” Adora smirks and dodges the grab, then climbs on top of Catra, covering her with her body. Catra arches up off the bed, pressing her hips up and against her and trying to grind against her. Adora pulls away, still smirking. 

“Adora,” Catra groans, “do  _ not _ fucking tease me.” 

Adora hums, grins, leans back in; one rough hand takes Catra’s hip bone and pushes her down,  _ hard _ \- ah, thank fuck - against the mattress. Adora puts her mouth right up to Catra’s ear, then murmurs:

“Are you going to be  _ good,  _ then?”

Wildfire stirs to life inside of Catra, crackles and pops and races from her groin to her fingertips. She  _ smirks,  _ then darts her head forward before Adora can back away and bites lustily at one of Adora’s cute, tiny little ears. 

“Depends,” she growls around the mouthful, “are you gonna  _ make _ me?” 

Adora gasps heavily, and Catra can feel that marvelous body go rigid against her. This is Catra’s favourite game. Adora is so sweet, so considerate, so gentle, so thoughtful - which means it takes a bit of taunting to draw out the snarling animal Catra knows she can be,  _ needs _ her to be. 

“You’re such a brat,” Adora breathes shakily, and Catra grins against the side of her face and then releases her ear. Her plan is to bite down on Adora’s throat or maybe her shoulder -  _ mark her clearly,  _ snarls something inside of her,  _ mine mine mine _ \- but Adora knows her too well and beats her to it, crushing their bodies together and pinning Catra beneath her, blunt teeth carving beautiful arched bruises into Catra’s neck. Catra’s mouth falls open and she lets out a loud, low, shuddering groan that fills their bedroom. “Fuck,” Adora murmurs against her neck, “and you’re so  _ loud.”  _

“Your fault, not mine,” Catra sing-songs, gyrating her pelvis up against Adora, squirming against her in an exploratory way. She wants to push Adora off of her and giggle and run from her purely for the thrill of being recaptured. Adora knows this part of her well enough that the squirming makes Adora’s hands come tight around Catra’s wrists, bringing them up over her head and forcing them hard against the pillow. Mmm, yes, good, Adora’s starting to get a little rougher with her. It’s good, but it’s not  _ enough.  _ “Come on baby,” she growls, smirking and writhing,  _ “fuck me.”  _

“Think you can be quiet for me?” Adora murmurs, and even though she’s grinning in that wonderful bossy way it’s still much too gentle, still a request and not a demand. 

“No,” Catra tells her through a wild smirk, petulant and challenging and burning, burning, burning with that fire inside of her. She  _ loves _ this single defiant word when she’s in heat and everything inside of her is saying  _ yes _ and  _ more _ because she loves it best when Adora gives it to her rough and hard and ruthless. If Catra is going to be reduced to a needy, semi-sentient mess, she’s going to make damn fucking certain she brings Adora right down to her level. 

Hell, she’s half fucking convinced that Adora’s been conditioned to react subconsciously to the pheromones Catra gives off when she’s in heat, even if Adora hasn’t got the sense of smell needed to actually perceive them. 

“No?” Adora repeats cockily - mmm, Catra  _ loves _ when she’s cocky - and foolishly loosens her grip on Catra’s wrists to try to get a better hold. Catra reacts lightning fast to the softening of Adora’s grasp on her, planning on yanking herself free and flipping Adora over and maybe biting down hard on one of her gorgeous tits, but - 

\- holy  _ fuck,  _ Adora  _ played _ her, because that grip is now  _ iron _ and she is completely, inescapably pinned down, and it was just a  _ feint,  _ and holy  _ fuck _ Catra is so  _ wet  _ -

She can’t believe Adora  _ tricked _ her. Trapped her. Outsmarted her!

It’s the hottest thing that’s ever fucking happened to her. 

“You thought I was just going to let you get loose?” Adora growls victoriously, waves of smug satisfaction coming off her in a thick scent of sex and sweat and excitement. The marching beat of Adora’s heart fills Catra’s ears even as another loud, approving groan leaves her lips. “If you’re going to be bad,” Adora murmurs, kissing possessively at Catra’s pulse point, “I’m going to have to make sure you behave yourself some other way.” 

Adora’s mouth rolls down Catra’s body, seizing a nipple and drawing more tortured keening from Catra when she uses her  _ teeth.  _

Okay, so maybe Adora isn’t totally oblivious to what Catra wants during her heat after a year and a half of sleeping together. 

“So loud,” Adora murmurs again, pausing her hot, blissful, unbearable torture of Catra’s currently quite sensitive breasts. “And you’re going to bite my hand if I try to cover your mouth, aren’t you?” 

“Try it and see,” Catra challenges, her voice raw and gravelly with unhinged desire. 

Adora  _ laughs,  _ dark and sultry and completely, utterly in charge, and Catra feels her body react to the sound with a sudden urgent gush that trickles down her inner thigh. She is way, way past being too horny to be embarrassed. She’s nearly too horny to even  _ notice.  _

And then she smells the tingle of magic - it’s like lightning, like ozone, like moonlight-warmed grass - and Adora is glowing, her eyes alight with sadistic pleasure.

A year and a half is a decent amount of time to get pretty good at mastering transformation magic, and Adora’s concentration on keeping Catra held in place doesn’t so much as stumble as the light encases her body and she grows larger and heavier and all-encompassing on top of Catra without releasing the brutal grip on her wrists. 

As Adora changes, Catra grinds their hips together, eager to find out if she’s decided to give herself a cock in this iteration. One of the many benefits, Catra has discovered, of having a magical girlfriend. So many wonderful options. But no, as Adora’s strong legs trap Catra’s beneath them, she finds only slick heat pressed against her, and no shaft. That’s fine by Catra. There isn’t a single one of Adora’s forms she doesn’t love. 

As long as Adora hurries up and  _ fucks her.  _ The aching need inside of her is becoming absolutely fucking unbearable. 

“You want so badly to be fucked,” Adora purrs, her voice just the smallest touch deeper and more powerful in her She-Ra form, “don’t you, love?” 

Catra whines and wiggles and enjoys the way straining against Adora’s grip is now about as productive as straining against solid steel. 

“Fuck you,” she moans, trying to bite Adora’s arm but unable to reach, completely pinned down as she is. 

“Tell me you want to be fucked,” Adora commands, shifting her grip so that one of those magnificently large hands is holding both of Catra’s wrists, freeing the other one to trail torturously down Catra’s body. 

“No,” Catra gasps, pulsing her hips urgently against open air, her thighs held down by Adora’s knees. 

Adora chuckles slips that hand down, down, down. 

Catra  _ moans,  _ and she makes sure it’s extra loud just to make Adora flustered and self-aware and maybe encourage her to hurry the fuck up. 

“I’m not fucking you until you tell me you want it,” Adora says, so damn deliciously smug and huge and strong and bossy and - fuck,  _ fuck _ and she’s rubbing circles around Catra’s clit while ruthlessly pinning her hips down, and Catra is crying out in needy, desperate pleasure, and - 

_ “Ask me to fuck you,”  _ Adora growls, increasing the pressure on Catra’s clit, and Catra is sobbing and groaning and whimpering and blubbering, and one or two of the words that come out of her mouth must be something vaguely shaped like what Adora is demanding, because suddenly there are two of those thick, calloused, sturdy fingers pressing their way inside of Catra. She makes another noise, raw and uninhibited, and the hand around her wrists comes loose and instead latches tightly over her lower face, so damn big and strong and inescapable that it wraps from cheekbone to cheekbone and holds her jaw in place so that she can’t even consider biting, muzzling her effectively with a bruising grip that leaves her nose free to breathe but keeps everything else on firm lockdown. 

She feels Adora’s knees shift, and then instead of keeping her legs pinned down to the bed Adora is pushing Catra’s thighs up, up, and against her torso, folding her in half so that Adora’s significant weight is pressing Catra’s knees up nearly to her eye level, and thank fuck she’s flexible because this would probably snap just about anybody else into two pieces - and then Adora’s got her fingers lined up with her hips again, and she starts to  _ thrust  _ in earnest, fucking Catra hard into the mattress while maintaining the grip on her mouth, muffling her throaty screaming as she’s pounded into oblivion and finally a force equal to that burning inferno inside of her is cutting through the ache and the need and the overstimulation and giving her just what she wants, just what her body has been begging for.

Total mental obliteration arrives swiftly, delivered by crushing weight and ruthlessly thrusting fingers and a brutal hand on her mouth. Catra clings and scrabbles at Adora’s back wildly with her claws, and the smell of blood that floods her senses only winds her even more tightly, makes her clench down in trembling desperation against those fingers.

Adora grunts and huffs as she fucks, and Catra loves to see her come undone this way, loves to meet her eyes and see the stately, dignified She-Ra turned to a joyous, smirking, sweaty conqueror - just for her. Only for her. 

Catra comes in a brilliant surge of roaring ecstasy, but Adora doesn’t yield once she’s desperately trying to squeeze her thighs together and make it stop, and so - pummeled to the next peak without a shred of mercy - Catra comes again, and then again. Adora drains her dry of every last flicker of rebelliousness and contrarian stubbornness, leaves her not just  _ satisfied _ but  _ demolished.  _

It’s the difference between fifteen minutes of rest before Catra wants to go again and a good five hour nap, and Adora knows it. When sweet, wonderful, perfect Adora pulls away and slips back into her regular shape, it takes Catra a couple heartbeats to remember how to put her legs back down. 

She swallows.

And then, she says:

“Ffffffuuuuuuuuuuuuuucccckkkkkk.”

Adora laughs and kisses her cheek, a smug twinkle in her eyes.

“Love you too,” Adora says, like she didn’t just plow the everloving shit out of Catra. Ugh, fuck. The bed is a  _ mess.  _ They’re going to have to change the sheets. Or at least… sleep on the far side or something. 

“Come cuddle me, you asshole,” Catra grunts, rolling over and happy to find the ache inside of her has abated for the time being. Adora giggles -  _ giggles,  _ the damn nerve of her, Catra loves her so fucking much - and crawls up next to Catra and wraps her in her arms. 

“Is that any way to thank the person who just made you come five times in a row?” Adora murmurs against Catra’s ear, sounding  _ inordinately _ pleased with herself. 

“Of course you were counting,” Catra says, smiling wryly - if exhaustedly - into her pillow, “you competitive little shit. I don’t think it counts when I’m in heat.”

“Uh huh,” Adora chuckles, pulling Catra a little more tightly against her chest. “Whatever you say.” Catra is vaguely aware of the loud, rumbling purr that is coming from her own chest. 

“Yeah,” she says sleepily, “whatever I say, n’don’t you forget it.”

“Sure thing,” Adora says, her voice lush with love and amusement and indulgence, kissing the back of Catra’s ear.

“Can’t believe you only  _ just  _ figured out there was a reason I get like this every couple months,” Catra mumbles in laughing disbelief. She feels so good. She feels like she’s floating. Her whole body throbs happily with the wonderful ravishing she just received. 

“Brattiness isn’t out of character for you,” Adora counters playfully. 

“Shush,” Catra says, grinning. She takes Adora’s hand from her chest and lifts it to her mouth to kiss each one of her knuckles, one by one. She notices the unmistakable coppery aroma of Adora’s blood under her nails, now that she’s got her hands up by her face. “Your back heal okay when you turned back?”

“Always does,” Adora reassures her gently, kissing her neck. 

“Good,” Catra mumbles, and then, “I love you.” 

“I love you too,” Adora says. “Get some sleep. I’ll be right here when you need me.”

“Mm,” Catra concurs, wiggling backwards a little to press all the more against her unreasonably incredible partner. “I always need you.” 

Adora kisses the back of her neck again.

Her next words are so ethereal, so certain, that Catra’s not totally sure she hasn’t dreamed them.

“Then I’ll always be here.”


	2. Special Occasion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are some references to my fic Aftermath in this chapter! No major spoilers or anything if you haven't read it yet, but consider them little easter eggs if you have. :)

Of the various changes Catra has made to their bedroom in Bright Moon, the armchair is Adora’s favourite one. It’s almost a loveseat, it’s so luxuriously big - and she and Catra certainly treat it as one - but the fact that it has a back and arms sets it apart from the big squishy poof seating that’s so common around the castle.

They’re in this armchair, snuggled together while Adora halfheartedly pretends to read a report, when she remembers the question she’s been meaning to ask Catra.

“Hey - the day you decided is your birthday is coming up,” she says, lowering the data pad to the arm of the chair and giving up on the façade that she’s actually absorbing any information from it. “Have you decided what you want yet, other than the party?”

“You know that party is entirely Sparkles’ idea, right,” Catra chuckles, turning into Adora’s chest and tucking her head under her chin. “I’d have been happy with something like what we had for Archa, but I have a feeling that I’m not getting away with a small handful of friends and some cake and whiskey.”

Adora grins at Catra’s tone of playful resignation, warmed by the memory of the little celebration aboard Darla.

“Yeah, probably not. Everybody on Etheria wants to score an invite to one of Glimmer’s parties. Rubbing elbows with every princess in the old Alliance, all that political stuff. She said she’d try to keep it to like twenty or thirty people but you know how these things just sort of snowball with her.” 

“Oh, I know,” Catra grins, and Adora reaches up idly to stroke her thumb along the edge of that grin. “I don’t mind a little shmoozing. Pretty sure half the point of a birthday is to get to be the center of attention for a day, and it isn’t a terrible idea to remind some of those less forgiving diplomats that I’m in good now with the Bright Moon royalty.” 

Adora shouldn’t be surprised that Catra is strategizing, using her own birthday party as an opportunity to further secure the safety of her position here, but it makes her feel kind of guilty that it’s still something Catra worries about. 

“You haven’t answered the question about what you _actually_ want,” Adora reminds her, tilting her head down to kiss one of Catra’s ears. Catra flicks it in response, unintentionally batting the end of Adora’s nose with the silky-soft tip. 

“Hmm, well, I _did_ have an idea I wanted to run past you,” Catra says, and there’s a change in her tone that promises some kind of fun trouble.

“Oh yeah?” Adora prompts, already grinning. 

“Well, you remember on Bow’s birthday, how he and Sparkles were more disgustingly sappy than usual and she kept saying _anything for the birthday boy_ and he kept asking for random things just to see her like, actually do it?” 

“Yeah,” Adora laughs, pretty sure she and Catra are in no position to judge on the ‘disgustingly sappy’ score, “It was kind of cute. He looked so surprised and happy every time he got his way even though it was literally stuff we’d have done for him on any other day.” It was only a couple weeks ago; she smiles at the memory of running into Glimmer in the hallways early in the morning, carrying a tray from the kitchen and looking entirely too giddy about bringing her boyfriend breakfast in bed. “Is that what you want?” She presses her next kiss to Catra’s temple. “Breakfast in bed? The royal treatment?” It’s a pretty small ask; Adora likes to be up early anyways to get in a run around the gardens. 

“Mmm, _kind_ of,” Catra says, wiggling out of her position against Adora’s chest so they can actually look at each other while they talk; she’s wearing a sly little smile. “I was thinking…” she touches Adora’s face in a light, fluttering way that makes Adora want to close her eyes and just bask in the tenderness of it, three fingertips against the edge of her jaw and the tip of a thumb on her chin, “...maybe for my birthday I’d like to have a whole day where you’re mine.” The suggestion makes goosebumps run up Adora’s arms; there’s no mistaking Catra’s tone.

“What, you mean skip the party entirely and just have sex all day?” 

“No,” Catra purrs, “I still want to go to the party.” The way she says it is dark and delicious, like the party is an element of the plan. The soft stirring of her fingertips against Adora’s face suddenly seems a lot less innocent. There’s a heat rising in her cheeks that wasn’t there before.

“Walk me through what, uh, what you have in mind exactly?” Adora requests, feeling a little unmoored. She likes the vague, general shape of this idea, but she feels like she should actually know what she’s agreeing to. 

“I’m thinking,” Catra says, her pinky finger stroking a whispering line down Adora’s throat, “You’ll do whatever I say all day, no questions asked, no disobedience allowed.” Adora huffs, swallows. The reaction makes a smirk crawl across Catra’s face. “I wouldn’t make you do anything you don’t want to do, or embarrass you or anything. But I want to pick what you wear, and I want you to have to ask me permission for anything I haven’t explicitly told you to do, and I want to spend the whole day doing that, from the moment you wake up, all the way until…” she trails off, holding Adora’s eyes with a meaningful grin. 

“That, uh,” Adora says shakily, “That sounds really good. I think I can - I can make that happen. Just, uh.” Whoof, where did her ability to talk go? And is it hot in here? It feels hot in here. “Just nothing like, y’know, nothing that might make other people uncomfortable? At the, uh. At the party.” 

“‘Course not,” Catra confirms, still smirking, tracing Adora’s lower lip with her thumb now. “Nobody will know what we’re up to but us.”

“Okay,” Adora says, swallowing. “Then yeah, I can do that.”

“Mm,” Catra hums, watching her through a lazy, pleased expression, “Happy birthday to me.” 

Adora smiles dorkily at her, then leans in and kisses her softly and quietly and with no small anticipation for the day of the party in a few weeks. 

* * *

Adora wakes up brimming with energy well before the first moonrise on Catra’s birthday. Her eyes snap open and her body floods with adrenaline and she has to fight the urge to leap out of bed into their still-dark bedroom. Her excitement for the day has been building and building and she could hardly sleep last night; you’d think it was _her_ first birthday, and not Catra’s. 

Part of the thrill is the mystery of it all. She trusts Catra not to abuse her power, but she also has no idea just when and how and what Catra will be commanding her to do, and for some reason that just makes her feel really keenly on edge in a very pleasant kind of way. 

She should go for a run to burn off some energy. Catra will want to sleep for a while yet; she doesn’t do pre-moonrise activities. Yeah, just - just a nice little run around the gardens, that’ll - 

And then it occurs to her that she’s supposed to ask permission to do _anything_ Catra hasn’t explicitly told her to do, and wow okay she’s already _very_ keyed up by this whole total obedience for an entire day thing. 

She settles back into bed and wiggles closer to Catra, pressing their bodies and nuzzling their cheeks together in the way Catra used to do when she was little and has started doing again in the last few months. Catra gets the cutest little sleepy frown on her face, then cracks open one sliver of golden eye. 

“S’not morning,” she mumbles crankily. 

“Happy Birthday,” Adora whispers, and this draws a bleary little smile out into the open. Her heart starts to hammer as she anticipates the next words. She feels so… _naughty,_ somehow. “Can I, uh,” oh boy, yep, she’s actually getting turned on from this, “Can I have permission to go for a run?” 

Catra’s other eye slides open, and the smile sharpens into a drowsy smirk. 

“Good girl,” Catra murmurs, and the raspy croak of her morning voice as she says it makes a whole-body shudder of pleasure rush through Adora. “Gimme a kiss n’then you can run. And then come right back here after.”

“Yes ma’am,” Adora grins, leaning in to kiss her, closing her eyes and smiling into it when Catra strokes an affectionate touch through her hair. Today is going to be a _good_ day. She’s sure she must be wearing a dorky, happy kind of grin when she pulls away, from the amused, indulgent way Catra is looking up at her. 

“Go run,” Catra commands with a smile, and so sets in motion the events of this very special birthday celebration. 

* * *

Catra is awake when Adora returns from the run sweaty and only moderately less keyed up. 

“Hey,” Catra says as she enters the room, a wicked glint to her eyes. “Come here.” Adora shuts the door behind her and crosses over to where Catra is standing in front of the dressing table, heart hammering from more than just her daily dose of cardio. Catra takes hold of her hips and positions her in front of the mirror so that she’s facing it. “Close your eyes.” Adora swallows and does as she’s told. No questions asked, right? That was the agreement. Catra chuckles at her eagerness. “I can’t believe how good you’re being,” she croons, and Adora feels a giddy smile spring up on her face at the approving words. It doesn’t seem to matter to her body’s automatic flushed reaction to praise that she hasn’t accomplished anything meaningful or significant by just closing her eyes when she’s told to. It’s a fundamentally uncomplicated relationship with her own libido, in this specific sense - if Catra says she’s good, it makes her happy and floaty and, depending on the context, pretty damn turned on. 

She feels Catra come up behind her, feels light pressure on either side of her hips. 

“Open your eyes.”

She does, and _heat_ rushes through her at what she sees. Catra is holding a lacy, elaborate, elegant little triangle of lilac fabric stretched out over Adora’s waist. 

“Is that - “ she chokes - _“underwear?”_

“It’s _fancy_ underwear,” Catra confirms with wicked glee. “Bow says it’s called _lingerie.”_

“Please tell me you didn’t go shopping for this with Bow,” Adora whines, refusing to look her own reflection in the eye because she knows she must be _bright_ red. 

“Oh, would you have preferred I go with Glimmer? Because you _know_ if she knew, she’d be sending you smirks all fucking night. That could be arranged, if you’re into that.” Adora trembles at the thought; there is something _kind_ of arousing about the thought of other people knowing that - wait, knowing that _what?_

“Am I - is this what I’m wearing to - to the party?” She splutters. Oh yeah. She’s definitely red. 

“Under the clothes I pick out for you,” Catra purrs in confirmation. “In fact, you’re going to put these on after you finish showering.” Adora lets out a long, low whine and bites her lip, staring at the pair of underwear. She’s never in her life worn anything like that, and just the thought makes her feel nervous and exposed and excited and scared and -

“You’re not _complaining,_ are you?” Catra teases, kissing the side of her neck. Adora takes in a deep, shuddering inhale, and shakes her head _no._ “You know the rules. You’re _mine_ today.” She nods her head _yes._ Catra chuckles at her inability to form words. “That’s what I thought. You’re going to shower, now,” she orders, withdrawing her hands and making that menacing little garment vanish from sight, “and I’m going to _watch.”_ A noise something kind of like a gasp and a whimper escapes Adora at this. Fuck. Catra hasn’t even _touched_ her yet. “Well? Go on.” 

She walks on shaky legs over to the corner of their room where the magically heated tub is set up. This is another sensible change to the room that Catra has dictated since they got back from space - the tub now also functions as a shower, and is behind a partition instead of right out in the open. Catra follows her around the partition, and to Adora’s thrilled delight there’s already a fluffy little footstool against the wall. The thought of Catra deliberately making preparations to watch her showering is… _very_ heady. 

Catra settles herself into the stool and crosses one knee over the other, leaning back against the wall and waiting with smug satisfaction for Adora to obey. It’s almost absurd, how shy and vulnerable Catra’s nakedly hungry stare makes her feel, considering the many, many things they’ve done with each other. 

“Don’t make me give the order twice,” Catra says softly. 

Adora chokes back a shaky groan at this, and quickly yanks her shirt up and over her head, throws it wherever, shucks her pants, toes out of her socks, wrestles herself out of her sports bra and then wiggles free of her boxer briefs. 

“Good girl,” Catra says from her supervisory perch, smirking. Her eyes roam over Adora’s body with such open covetousness that you’d think she’d never seen it before. Bashfully, Adora presses her knees together and holds the elbow of one arm, trying to fight the urge to cover her chest. 

“Can I get in?” She asks, knowing she’s squirming. Hell, if this were any other day and Catra weren’t in the room with her, she might rub out a quick one in the shower just to ease the pressure a little - but then, if this were any other day she wouldn’t be all worked up like this before they’ve even had breakfast. 

“Not yet,” Catra says, her smirk growing. “Turn the water on and then come stand here.” Adora whimpers, knowing that her sheepishness has been noted and thus is going to be exploited for Catra’s amusement. She turns the tap to start the water, and then goes to stand at the indicated position a few feet from Catra’s cute little throne. Catra _looks_ at her again, and Adora has to fight to keep still. 

“Aren’t you beautiful,” Catra murmurs luxuriously, her eyes taking and taking and taking. “Be good for me, Adora. Arms behind your back.” With a whimper, Adora obeys, putting her arms behind her and slotting her elbows into her palms; it forces her shoulders back and her chest out, making the heavy rise and fall of her breathing even more apparent. “Good,” Catra praises, and Adora’s about to close her eyes and enjoy the thrum of it when Catra adds, “Legs spread apart for me, nice and wide.” Adora whimpers as she follows the instruction only slightly reluctantly, knowing what Catra will find. She closes her eyes and just tries to breathe, knowing how totally on display she is, knowing how utterly it’s turning her on, and knowing _just_ how obvious this position will make her arousal. 

_“Wow,_ Adora,” Catra says smokily, her own arousal throttling her words, “You really are getting off on this, aren’t you?” Adora gives another stuttering whimper in answer, keeping her eyes scrunched shut. “You’re so gorgeous you make me want to press my mouth between your legs and cover myself in your scent,” she growls, and Adora bites her lip and opens her eyes and whimpers at the sight of Catra’s ravenous stare. “Get in the shower,” she commands, and Adora knows the harsh edge to the words is probably because Catra is fighting a battle against her own willpower, trying not to derail her own choreographed plan with baser desires. 

Fuck but Adora wishes she’d give in to those desires. 

She climbs into the shower and desperately tries to focus on getting clean, tries not to think about that _undergarment_ that’s waiting for her when she finishes. She’s midway through scrubbing herself down when a little gasp catches her attention, and she looks over at Catra and realizes that she’s got one hand up her shirt and one down her pants and is _touching herself_ while watching Adora shower. 

“What’s the matter, princess?” Catra asks breathily, noting smugly that Adora has paused in cleaning herself to gawp. “Jealous?” Catra’s eyes flutter shut and she whimpers as her own hands work her steadily towards a quick climax. When her eyes come back open again and she sees Adora is still frozen, a lopsided smirk slides across her face. “Don’t stop, sweetheart. I - mm - I’m the one that needs to be able to think. You just need to be _clean.”_

Adora is definitely not going to be able to think. 

She keeps showering, sneaking glances over at Catra and feeling shocked anew every time their eyes meet and Catra is still getting herself off while watching Adora. It is wildly, _wildly_ tempting to put her own hand between her legs and seek a little relief, but there’s absolutely no way she would get away with it with Catra _right there_ and _watching._

So she just does her best to stay focused on the task at hand, to at least derive some pleasure from knowing she’s being _good_ and following an order by getting clean. Catra is still going - huffing and gasping now - when Adora finishes rinsing the soap out of her hair, and she’s not sure if she’s supposed to stay in the shower past the point of being _clean_ if Catra is still - still - 

“Done?” Catra gasps, seeing Adora paused again. Adora nods. “Good girl,” she says through her pleasure, and Adora clenches with need at the sound of it. “Turn off the shower and come here.” Catra’s hands slide out from under her clothing - Adora doesn’t _think_ she came, but maybe it already happened once while she wasn’t paying attention? She turns off the shower and climbs out; Catra tosses her a towel and so she dries herself off as best she can while obeying the order to _come here._ Catra grins, lifts her hips up off the stool and hikes her pants down and off one leg, and then spreads her thighs apart. “Come here,” she says again, low and urgent, “I want to finish in your mouth.” 

The words are like a blow, they hit Adora with such force. She _drops_ to her knees, pressing her mouth against Catra without so much as a moment’s thought about the fact that she just got clean and now her face is going to smell like sex. Catra’s already so wet and so close, and as her hands tangle in Adora’s damp hair and pull her in, she moans and twitches her hips against Adora’s tongue. 

“Good girl,” Catra rasps, “Good girl, such a good girl, _fuck.”_ She bucks her hips so hard against Adora’s mouth that Adora worries she’ll split her lip against her teeth from the force, but honestly, she’s kind of into it. Catra is a hot, slick, blissful paradise against her tongue and her lips and her nose and soon enough she feels Catra’s thighs clenching around her head, shaking thunderously, and she holds her pace with dogged determination until Catra’s back is arching and her moans fill the bedroom. 

“Good girl, Adora, good girl,” Catra hisses through her teeth as she comes, and Adora vaguely registers that Catra’s legs are hooked over her shoulders. Huh, when did that happen? She laps and sucks the last dregs of orgasm out of Catra and only stops when a hand gently pushes her away. She looks up, smiling with coy pride even though Catra did most of the work for her, and Catra meets her eye and smiles back and laughs a shaky, joyful laugh. “Happy fucking birthday to me,” she croaks. Adora grins and places a gentle little kiss to her inner thigh, leaving behind a glistening wet spot. “You’re cute,” Catra huffs, like she can’t believe it, and Adora feels herself blushing again. “Better go wash your face off.” As she says this, she pulls her legs off of Adora’s shoulders and gives her chest one commanding little push with her foot. 

“Yes ma’am,” Adora says with a grin, amused to be bossed around at toe-point, and wobbles back over to the tub to turn the faucet back on and quickly scrub her face. 

“You know,” Catra remarks, still sounding a little hazy after her orgasm, “if we didn’t have things to do today, I think I could sit here and admire this view for hours.” Naked and bent over the edge of the tub with her ass to Catra, Adora hadn’t even considered the angle she was presenting her partner with until the comment. She whines. 

“It’s breakfast time, I’m hungry,” she somehow manages to say, feeling said hunger start to establish higher priority in her list of bodily needs. Catra laughs at her. 

“Don’t worry, princess, I’ll _feed_ you. I’m not going to lock you up in the room all day and make you pose naked in different places while I jerk off.” The very notion is, honestly, kind of really hot - hearing Catra lay it out so casually is definitely making Adora blush again. “And anyways,” she continues, rising up off of the stool and pulling her pants and underwear back on, “you’ve got a pair of panties to put on for me, remember?” Her voice turns positively _carnal_ on the last word, and Adora huffs an excited, nervous exhalation.

There’s only so long she can stall by washing her face, and so she finds herself shutting off the tap and turning to face her lacy, ornamental torment. Catra is smirking, of course, and seems to have completely regained her composure. 

“Come on,” Catra says, like Adora is a frightened animal she’s trying to lure out of hiding, “over to the mirror.” In a daze, Adora walks back over to the mirror; the goosebumps that rise across her entire body are just because she left the towel by the footstool, right? Right. 

The lingerie bottoms are waiting for her on the dresser, innocent and sweet and somehow so terrifying. 

“Put them on,” Catra commands, tone now sharp and smirking, rich with the smug certainty of someone who _knows_ she will be obeyed. Adora inhales quickly at how fucking _hot_ Catra sounds. She clenches and unclenches her fists once, then delicately picks up the underwear. She turns them around and furrows her brow, confused. 

“There’s no - there’s no back part. It’s just like a - a little - line of fabric.” It probably qualifies as somewhere between a _ribbon_ and a _string._ How the hell is she supposed to wear these?

Catra’s reflection appears beside her own in the mirror; she’s wearing a sinister smile that says she’s been waiting for Adora to ask this exact question. 

“This,” she explains, running the little strip of fabric between her thumb and forefingers, “Goes _here.”_ Behind Adora’s back, Catra’s other hand draws one finger up between Adora’s ass cheeks, and Adora arches and gasps at both the touch and the shock of just what it is she’s supposed to be putting on. A dozen protests come to her lips - her butt will be totally hanging out under her clothes! Won’t that be uncomfortable! But the agreement was _total_ obedience, no questions asked, and she knows Catra would never do anything that would actually make her uncomfortable, and obviously _other_ people wear these kinds of things if they’re something Bow knew about, and - 

“Well?” Catra purrs. 

Adora swallows hard, and with trembling hands bends over and steps into the panties, pulls them up, and on, and - and they’re not _physically_ uncomfortable, not in the way she worried they might be, but she is now _incredibly_ aware of how much her clit is throbbing. 

“Good girl,” Catra says, and Adora actually has to grip the edge of the vanity to try to stay upright, the words rock through her so intensely. It feels so, so, so much _more,_ to obey even though she’s nervous about doing it, to follow instructions that she initially balked at. The corresponding heat of the praise when she manages it is… oh, _fuck,_ it’s beyond words. 

Catra runs her palms up the outsides of Adora’s thighs, kissing her neck. 

“Stand up straight now,” she says, and when Adora does she actually starts _purring._ “Look at you,” Catra murmurs through the vibration, holding Adora gently by the hip bones and turning her this way and that in the mirror. “Look how pretty you are.” Adora reluctantly looks at her own reflection and feels herself turning red at the praise. She feels shy again, and smiles without quite understanding why. “That’s my princess,” Catra says warmly, as if somehow she’s done something right, even if she hasn’t done anything, and she’s smiling and blushing more and Catra is kissing her neck again and she has _no_ idea how she’s going to function today feeling the barely-there whisper of these undergarments against her skin all day. “You good, hm?”

“Yeah,” she stammers, ducking her head, embarrassed and flustered without quite being able to articulate _why,_ even in her own head. 

“Good,” Catra says, then kisses her cheek. “Get dressed. I promised you breakfast and I intend to keep that promise.” 

* * *

Breakfast is absolute torture. Adora’s never been so betrayed by a mealtime in her life. 

(And that’s _including_ the incident when they were thirteen and a main sewage pipe burst above the mess hall. Why, she wonders to this day, did they even _have_ that pipe running through there?)

Catra keeps touching her thigh under the table, and giving her commands on the sly - _pass me the honey, Adora -_ and every time she shifts she thinks about the _underwear._

And Catra doesn’t stop smirking the entire fucking time. 

Somehow, miraculously, neither Bow nor Glimmer seem to notice - they’re both so excited about Catra’s first ever birthday party that they just yammer on happily about the night’s festivities and what they’re going to wear and the new shipment of wine that just came in and the people who are coming tonight and what kinds of gifts they think people will bring and - 

\- and all Adora can think about is the fact that she is secretly wearing a cute lacy little thong at Catra’s command and later tonight Catra will _continue_ to have her way with Adora and then finally, hopefully, the underwear will come _off -_

“And really, I couldn’t tell him he _couldn’t_ come, since Mermista is bringing Sea Hawk and everybody knows _he_ isn’t a princess, so there went the whole _princesses-only-event_ invitation, and besides that - “

As established: breakfast is torture. Catra is evil. Evil!

The hand on Adora’s thigh strokes up and down and up and down and Adora loves this wicked, wicked fucking woman so damn much. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


After their late lunch with Perfuma out in the gardens - an equally torturous affair, mitigated only very slightly by the fact that there was no table for Catra to stroke her thigh under - Catra gives her the command to go take a fifteen minute stroll and then meet her in the bedroom. 

Strolling is a lot easier when you don’t feel your naked butt cheeks moving against the fabric of your pants with every step, but Adora complies with this latest order with the same obedience, gets the same gentle thrill she’s been enjoying all day from the simplicity of knowing she’s making Catra happy. 

She wanders the gardens a while, graced for ten of fifteen minutes with Melog’s silent company and enjoys just having a wandering, one-sided conversation with them as they walk and she chats, unable to understand their responses but enjoying their attentive presence. They part ways when Adora heads back inside - Catra has explained to her that Melog loves the lush magic of Etheria’s native forests and is always happiest outside among them - and then Adora has a few moments alone to wonder just what Catra is getting up to in their bedroom. 

She knocks when she gets to the door, and smiles a little to herself when she asks:

“Can I come in?” 

“Yep,” Catra calls from inside, “Door’s open.” She lets herself in and locks it behind her - just in case - and looks around to see if there’s any sign of what Catra has been up to. Catra is standing by the bed, holding two shirts on hangers and looking like she’s trying to decide between them. Adora comes up behind her, unable to resist the temptation to wrap her arms around Catra’s waist and kiss her shoulder. Catra hums happily, so obviously that isn’t taking too much initiative on what’s supposed to be _her_ day. Good. “Have a nice walk?”

“I did. Melog’s a real good listener.” Catra grins.

“You only think that because you can’t hear them talking back,” she says, then gives the shirts she’s holding up a little wiggle. “Which one do you think goes better with these pants?” 

Adora sees then what Catra’s been up to - she’s got their outfits for the party planned out and laid across the bed.

“Is this for you, or for me?” Adora asks, because that’ll change her answer and also because she’s curious. 

“For me,” Catra says. Adora kisses her shoulder again, for no reason other than because she wants to, and then considers the two options: one is a rich forest green with golden embellishments around the pointed collar and matching golden buttons, the other is a shiny silver material with big billowy pirate sleeves and elaborate embroidery on the back panel in dark blue thread. 

“These are new,” Adora remarks, admiring them both. “I’ve never seen either of these shirts before.” 

“Shopping trip with Bow,” Catra says, with a wink. “He said I needed to own some things that weren’t black or red. We went last week while you were dealing with that rockslide situation. I didn’t _just_ go out to buy you cute underwear. And he didn’t see me buy those, if you were wondering.”

“I was,” she confesses, squirming her thighs together a little at the reminder. Yep. They’re still there. Fuck, it makes her worked up every time she thinks about it. Focus, Adora. What was she supposed to be answering? Which of the shirts looks better with the pants? “What pants are you wearing?” She glances down, but Catra hasn’t changed out of the casual outfit she wore to breakfast and lunch. 

“These ones,” Catra says, pointing to the pair laid out on the bed. Oh, Adora _likes_ these pants of Catra’s. They’re classic black dress pants, nothing really remarkable about them, but they make Catra’s ass look incredible and they have this flowy way of gliding around her legs when she walks that matches the swishing of her tail _just so._

“The green shirt, I think,” Adora says, absently wondering if maybe shopping for clothes would be more fun if she were doing it with Catra and getting to admire her in everything she tries on. 

“That’s what I was thinking too,” Catra says decisively, twisting in Adora’s arms to press a quick, happy kiss to her lips and then adding the green shirt to the collection on the bed. Adora releases her with an easy willingness when the tilt of her body indicates she wants to move away, and stands to watch with her heart full of quiet love as Catra crosses back over to the dresser to put the silver shirt back away. Catra smiles at her when she turns around and sees Adora looking, lowers her eyelids a little and ensnares Adora in her warm, hungry gaze. “Ready to be good for me again, princess?” She asks quietly, and the words race up Adora’s body like something physical dragged across her skin, so sultry and inviting that they have a friction all of their own. 

“Yeah,” she says eagerly, and then swallows, tries again - “Yes ma’am.”

Catra chuckles, returns to the bedside and meets Adora face to face, takes her cheek in one hand and kisses her. Adora leans down readily into it, putting her hands gently on Catra’s hips and closing her eyes to enjoy the slow, indulgent heat of the kiss. She could gladly kiss Catra like this for hours, like their lips and tongues are old lovers relearning each other with halting, tender urgency after a long absence. 

It’s so nice that she actually forgets for a while that she was supposed to be doing something. She’s been enduring the steady, ever present hum of background arousal all day, so it feels _extraordinarily_ good to get her hands on Catra and be so thoroughly kissed by her for a brief, divine interlude. 

When Catra does eventually pull away, they’re both smiling. Adora drinks in the sight of her face from up close, admiring the sprawl of freckles across her face and the loose, fluffy strands of hair getting in her eyes. 

“What?” Catra asks, when Adora keeps on staring dopily. Adora blushes, and that just makes Catra _more_ determined to know. “Tell me. That’s an order. It’s my birthday, you know.” 

Adora laughs nervously, flicking her eyes away before re-engaging with Catra’s scrutinizing gaze. 

“I was - I was just thinking about how - the first time I saw stars, I kind of fell in love with the sight of them because they reminded me of your face.” 

Now it’s Catra’s turn to blush, and it must be a _doozy_ of a blush because it takes a lot for heat to show on her face what with her darker complexion and the thin layer of fur on her face. 

“Stars remind you of my face?” Catra repeats back to her, stunned. 

“Yeah,” Adora says, grinning shyly. She never thought she’d actually admit this to Catra out loud. “They’ve always made me think of your freckles. It was the first thing I thought of when I saw the sky full of them.” Unspoken, the fact that they were still on opposite sides of the war the first time either of them saw stars.

“Adora,” Catra squeaks out, still blushing and her face twisted into a manic kind of startled smile, “how the fuck am I supposed to pretend to be a big bad top when you go and say shit like that to me, huh?” 

It makes Adora’s own top side suddenly purr into wakefulness inside of her, drawn out by the sight of Catra flustered and overwhelmed. It takes quite a bit of effort to tamp down the smug, sassy response that bubbles up automatically in her throat. 

“Love you,” she says instead, and if it comes out a little _bratty,_ well… whoops. Catra huffs a laugh at her, clearly hearing the shift in Adora’s voice, and slides her hands down her back and then lower and then - “Ow,” Adora yelps, as Catra pinches her ass in retribution.

“Behave yourself,” Catra purrs into her ear, and there is not an ounce of uncertainty in that command. It turns Adora’s knees instantly to jelly, and the brief cameo of her dominant side is snuffed out like a candle on a cold day in space. 

“I’ll be good,” she whispers quickly, earnestly. Catra’s fingers slide down under her pants; unobstructed by any sort of sensible underwear, she grazes her claws against the skin of Adora’s ass cheek. Adora whimpers and writhes against her. She’s _really_ taking advantage of the lack of coverage provided by the lingerie. 

“You’d better be,” Catra growls, applying just the tiniest bit more pressure with her claws. Adora keens low in her throat; she knows Catra won’t break the skin. Her control with her claws is _exquisite -_ and besides that, she’s been trimming them since they got back from the mission to space several months ago. It’s one more quiet marker of the fact that Catra feels safe here with Adora, that she no longer keeps them as sharp as possible. Still _sharp_ , Adora is reminded as they press into the flesh of her glutes - just much easier to avoid hurting anybody _accidentally._

“I will,” she babbles desperately, feeling heat throb back to life between her thighs, “I’ll be good. I promise. I’ll be good for you.” Catra’s hand relaxes, slides back up and out of her pants. Adora huffs a little sigh of relief, leans her face reverently into the touch when Catra moves that hand instead to cup her face. 

“There’s my good girl,” Catra murmurs, and Adora is smiling again, looking at her in a daze. Ugh, this damned underwear, she’s so constantly conscious of them that it barely takes the lightest shove to push her back into a mental state where all she wants to do is sit at Catra’s feet and do anything she’s told to. Catra strokes her thumb once across Adora’s cheekbone and then withdraws her hand, waiting for Adora to look her in the eye before she continues: “Alright, here’s what we’re going to do. I’ve got my outfit for the party laid out on the bed. I want you to undress me, and then you’re going to help me put it on.” 

This, too, is torture. Catra is beautiful on a normal day, but today - authoritative, confident, smirking - she’s got a certain air of _handsome_ that makes it especially cruel of a task to disrobe her piece by piece, stripping her down to everything but her undergarments, and then to not get to be ravished by her. To immediately have to cover up that wonderful work of art that is Catra when all Adora wants to do is paint her from ankles to forehead with hungry kisses - ugh, it’s just - _ugh,_ she’s so _riled up_ and Catra hasn’t even touched her in any kind of sexual way yet and it still feels like she’s trying to act normal after she’s had Catra’s head between her thighs for several minutes, which she _hasn’t_ even though she _wishes_ that were the case. It’s so bad that Catra actually _laughs_ at her, seeing how clearly turned on she is as she helps Catra dress. 

“You want me to touch you, don’t you princess?” Catra chuckles with a burning hot arrogance that licks at her like a flame. She answers this with a _whine._ “Use your words,” Catra rebukes gently. 

“Yes,” Adora concedes, on her knees in front of Catra and pulling those dress pants up her elegant legs while Catra balances herself on Adora’s shoulders. 

“Yes what? Do up the buttons.”

“Yes, I want you to touch me,” she says in a shaky voice, tucking the pretty green shirt into Catra’s pants and then fastening the three buttons - two on the front for the fly, one on the back above her tail - with fumbling fingers. Adora has gotten very good at undoing tail buttons sight unseen over the last several months of fancy dress parties, but doing them _up_ this way is a new and interesting challenge. 

“Ask nicely for me, princess,” Catra says, and hope catches electric and crackling in her chest. Is Catra actually going to let her come once (or twice, or maybe three times - no, don’t be greedy) before the party so she isn’t a total distracted mess in front of all the guests? 

_“Please,”_ she blurts, “please, please Catra, please touch me.”

“You’re so worked up,” Catra says in a hushed voice, lips quirked up in a lopsided grin. “It’s kind of incredible.” 

“Please,” Adora says again, dizzy with the possibility that Catra will give her _some_ kind of relief after toying with her for hours. 

“Alright,” Catra says, an edge of playful knowing to her voice that says Adora might not actually get exactly what she wants. Adora swallows heavily. “Go bend over the edge of the bed.” She gets up off her knees quickly, heart racing, rushing to obey. Catra didn’t say what to do with her hands, so she crosses her arms behind her back in case that’s what Catra wants. It makes Catra chuckle. “I can’t believe you’re so eager. I should do this more often.” That makes Adora press her face into the mattress and _groan._ She’s not sure she could take this kind of hours-long buildup more than once a year. 

Then she feels Catra wiggling her fingers under the hem of her pants and tugging them down, and she _sighs_ with relief, with the _anticipation_ of relief. The pants come down, and then _off,_ and then the only thing on her lower half is that tiny little pair of frilly underwear. Adora can’t help it; she grinds her hips needily into the edge of the bed, searching for even just the suggestion of friction. Catra laughs and gives her butt a light smack. 

“None of that,” she admonishes, and Adora makes another frustrated noise into the sheets. “So undignified, for such a pretty princess,” Catra teases, running her fingers along the edge of the lacy underwear. Adora whimpers and fights to hold still as Catra traces the outline of the lingerie with light, taunting touches. Oh, this is almost _worse_ than not being touched. 

“Please,” Adora gasps, “Please, please let me come, Catra, please.”

“Oh, absolutely not,” Catra laughs, and her fingers grab, harsh and possessive, at Adora’s hips. Adora keens her disappointment. “You’ll come tonight, _after_ the party, when I decide you’ve earned it. You understand me, princess?” 

“Please?” Adora tries again, just about insensible with desire. 

“No,” Catra rebuffs, and Adora can hear the preening smirk in her voice. “But maybe I can help you let off a little steam some other way, hm?” It takes Adora a moment to understand what Catra is referring to, but then she realizes Catra is massaging and kneading the backs of her thighs and her buttocks the way she always does to warm them up in anticipation of an impact play scene. She makes a throaty noise as the understanding dawns, presses her ass back into Catra’s firm, preparatory touch in approval. “Yeah?” She chuckles. “What do you say to that? Use your words.” 

“Yes please,” Adora mumbles, face going red again. She finally admitted to Catra a few months ago after Catra had a minor freakout about nicking Adora with her claws during sex that she actually has learned she… kind of gets off on pain, in the right context. They’re still working around it carefully since it’s, well, sort of an emotionally loaded issue, but they’ve figured out after a little bit of research and experimentation that there are good middle ground options that aren’t just Catra’s claws and fangs - options like the short, whippy little switch that she watches Catra produce from their bedside table. 

“Good girl,” Catra says, and Adora squirms in anticipation. “I’m not gonna put you through anything too crazy before the party. I need you to actually _function_ in front of other people.” Adora nods her approval, wiggling her toes, squeezing her thighs together, struggling to stay still. She feels the switch line up against her backside, tries to remember to breathe through the first few gentle warm-up taps, and then - 

_CRACK._

The moan that explodes from deep in her chest is probably the least dignified noise she’s ever made. Catra laughs at her, tells her how good she is, hits her again. It’s good. It’s so good. It’s wonderful. It’s the release she’s been aching for since the shower this morning. Catra hits her again and again - Adora doesn’t know how many times - pausing to rub the stinging impact sites with her hands, smoothing out the edges of the pain, keeping her blood flowing. Her hips jump hungrily every time she feels the warmth of Catra’s hand, but the only relief comes from the crack of the switch against the back of her thighs. 

_Good girl. CRACK. Good, good girl. CRACK. CRACK. So good for me. CRACK._

It’s over too soon, but even still, she feels _enormously_ better for it. Catra climbs into the bed in her dashing party outfit and makes Adora come sit in her lap.

“That alright?” Catra murmurs lovingly, kissing Adora’s forehead, her eyelids, her nose. 

“Really good,” Adora answers, clinging to her. _“Really_ good. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, princess,” Catra says, “You’ve been so good for me all day. I love you, you know.”

“Mm,” Adora says, beaming brightly even as her eyes are closed, “I love you too.” It wasn’t a long scene by any means, so she isn’t exactly lost and adrift in floaty bliss like she’d be after a normal one, but it still feels so good to be safe and warm in Catra’s arms afterwards. 

“Feel ready to get dressed now?” Catra asks, pressing a kiss to her neck. “I’ve got your outfit picked out.” 

“Mhm,” Adora says, nodding for extra emphasis. 

“I love you,” Catra says again - she says it a lot after they do anything that causes Adora pain - and kisses her gently. 

“I love you too,” Adora says, opening her eyes and smiling up at Catra, gently caressing her cheek with the back of her knuckles. “Happy birthday, love.” Catra _grins._

“My birthday’s not over for at least another eight hours,” she quips. “Let’s get you changed and ready for that party.” 

Adora feels - well, not satisfied, exactly, because she’s still got that nonstop growling of hunger between her thighs, like she’s hanging out in Darla’s engine room and sitting on a piece of humming equipment - she feels light, and bouncy, and happy. She drags herself up and out of Catra’s embrace and rolls with a sudden burst of athleticism off the bed and onto the floor with a flying leap, spreading her arms out wide for balance as she just barely sticks the landing. Catra’s voice cracks with delighted laughter.

The outfit that Catra puts her into turns out not to be anything new or scary at all. She’s been experimenting a little more with fashion since the return from the road trip, with Glimmer’s encouragement, and Catra has picked out an ensemble that she’s actually pretty fond of. It’s a sleeveless blue blouse, a pair of flowy white pants, and a white and gold jacket that she picked out because it kind of gave her Fancy Pirate Captain vibes and reminded her fondly of Sea Hawk. 

And, of course, she’s still wearing the panties under it all, dammit. She hopes they can hold up to four more hours of Catra’s teasing without her completely soaking them through.

They’re almost out the door on the way to the party when Catra doubles back.

“Almost forgot this - “ she says, “Here, help me put it on?” Adora smiles when she recognizes the simple woven leather necklace Catra has retrieved from the vanity; it was one of Adora’s first projects when she started learning to use her beginner’s leatherworking kit during the long, empty hours of travel on board Darla. She’s gotten better at it although she doesn’t have as much free time now that they’re back on Etheria, but Catra wears the extremely basic accessory of woven cords with such pride that you’d think it was made of solid gold. 

She closes the clasp behind Catra’s neck for her, then comes around to her front to admire it hanging against her chest. It actually looks really nice in combination with the green shirt, unbuttoned scandalously low as it is.

“Okay,” Catra grins, “Ready.” 

  
  


* * *

  
  


Everybody cheers when they enter the party, which Adora wasn’t quite prepared for, but Catra peacocks grandly like she personally earned each and every person’s individual adulation. Adora allows herself to be gently pulled along in the intoxicating undertow of Catra’s influence, their arms linked together and the crowds opening and inviting Catra in with every direction she struts and floats through. 

Someone offers them a tray filled with champagne glasses. 

“Am I allowed?” Adora asks Catra, trying for a wicked smirk to disguise the truth of the interaction in front of their friends. Glimmer giggles at what appears to be a joke about their domesticity; Catra plays it up with a big smirk as she ‘ponders’ it, then kisses Adora’s cheek and says,

“I suppose so.” 

Later, when they’re flowing elegantly arm in arm from one group to another, Catra leans in and sweetly murmurs:

“Just one glass. We’re playing, tonight.” Adora gives a shuddering exhale at the firm command.

“Yes ma’am,” she whispers, and she’s throbbing with renewed need, feeling so reckless and salacious mouthing those words in public. 

“Good girl,” Catra says, and Adora swallows hard and then they’re standing in a circle with Frosta and Scorpia and Catra is chatting brightly like she didn’t just say _that,_ and Adora has to somehow figure out how to behave normally. 

She sips her champagne as slowly as possible, not wanting to explain to anybody why she’s turning down more drinks once it’s done. 

“You’re sweating, Adora,” Catra says sweetly, at some point, and even though they’re in front of other people she reaches up and brushes a loose strand of Adora’s hair behind her ear. “Go put your jacket over a chair somewhere - you don’t need it, it’s so warm in here.” To onlookers, it sounds like a suggestion. Adora’s insides thrill and coil and burn with the knowledge that it’s an _order._

“I’ll be right back,” she says, placing a nervous, excited little peck against Catra’s cheek and then wandering to the nearest chair to do as she’s been bid. She can _feel_ Catra watching her the entire time. 

When she returns to the group - Catra is patiently listening to one of Sea Hawk’s tall tales about glorious adventures past - she realizes Catra’s strategy behind the combination of jacket and sleeveless blouse. Now that their arms are looped through each other again - now that Catra has one of her arms _trapped_ \- she’s idly running her fingertips up and down Adora’s bicep with a casual absentmindedness that probably looks harmless to everybody else but is incredible, exquisite suffering for Adora. 

She starts to feel a little loose and giddy and wild, and she knows it isn’t because of the single glass of champagne she’s been nursing for the last two hours. 

“I can smell you,” Catra whispers with a smirk, the next time they’re alone, wandering to the table of appetizers to pick out food. Adora chokes down a desperate whimper at the blunt statement. “I can _smell_ how turned on you are,” she reiterates, as if Adora needed that clarified. Catra’s hand on the small of her back strokes with curling fingers through the fabric of the blouse, an innocent looking gesture that has Adora feeling like instead of sitting on a piece of Darla’s engine, she has Darla’s engine _inside of her_ and cranked to full blast. “And nobody but me knows,” Catra purrs, so deliciously self-satisfied that Adora doesn’t even know how to formulate a reply.

“Catra!” Bow calls from across the room, saving Adora. “It’s time for presents!” 

The guest of honor, Catra graciously allows herself to be showered with attention and praise and gifts - some thoughtful, some obviously just the feeble attempts of ambassadors and councillors to win political favor.

The most notable gift of the night is a beautiful midnight blue wool cloak trimmed in soft snowy feathers and decorated in one corner with a glimmering star constellation of beaded gemstones; it’s a thick, heavy thing that would keep a family of three warm through five days of blizzards, masterfully made and clearly expensive, but what’s really remarkable about it is that the gift is from _Frosta._

Fifteen years old and still generally, well, _frosty,_ Adora watches in surprise as she delivers the gift without any hint of malice or surly, backhanded compliments. Catra seems just as shocked as she is. 

“This is… really nice,” Catra says, caught off guard. “I. Thank you, Your Highness.” She slips into the formal address in a way that sounds sincere and intended to be respectful, to Adora’s ears, but she worries Frosta won’t pick up on the subtleties of Reading Catra 101 and might think it’s sarcasm. To her relief, Frosta gives her a little smile. 

“I normally wouldn’t bother with something so extravagant,” she says, and yep, she’s still kind of a condescending pest at heart, but Adora figures that’s probably something that just comes out naturally when she’s in a crowd and being watched by outsiders - “But Queen Glimmer explained to me that kids raised in the Horde didn’t get birthdays, and that this is the first birthday party you’ve ever had, so.” She gestures at the sumptuous cloak as if it’s a paltry thing, and not an incredible peace offering from someone who has long snubbed Catra even as the other princesses have come around to her. “Something a little nicer, to make up for all the birthdays you _should_ have had, but missed.” It’s a small acknowledgement that Catra’s upbringing was, to put it mildly, a lot shittier than Frosta’s privileged and sheltered life. A concession. Maybe even the first step in what could eventually be genuine forgiveness, and then one day friendship.

“Thank you,” Catra says, and this time it’s so earnest and vulnerable that Adora doesn’t think anybody could mistake it for insincerity. 

“And now you don’t have the excuse of the cold to avoid coming to visit me,” Frosta says pointedly. “I can’t always be the one making the trip down to Bright Moon, you know.”

“Sure,” Catra grins, “that only sounds fair.” 

When finally Catra is finished receiving the rest of the gifts, they now have a full table full of _stuff_ they’re going to have to find a place to store, and Adora is getting impatient and squirmy again. The distraction of sipping her single glass of champagne is long gone and now she can only focus on Catra’s thumb tracing up and down her bare arm in endless, tingling circles and the texture of the lingerie between her legs, the visceral memory of what it felt like to see herself wearing them in the mirror. 

“Almost there, princess,” Catra murmurs. “I promise to reward you for your patience.” 

* * *

Only the smallest of the moons is still out when they finally make it back to their bedroom. The night air coming through the open balcony is cool, and crickets are chirping, and Adora just wants, wants, _wants_ so badly. 

They leave the gifts in the ballroom where the party was held - Glimmer’s guards will see to it that nobody touches them.

Catra locks the bedroom door behind them with a firm finality that makes Adora’s body _throb._ She’s in such a state that all she wants to do is _obey,_ and be _good,_ and hope it earns her that promised reward. 

“Alright, princess,” Catra purrs, kissing her cheek. “I have something I need to do. While I get ready, I want you to drag the armchair over in front of the mirror.”

“Yes ma’am,” she says automatically, happy she doesn’t need to use any more brainpower pretending that she isn’t completely, utterly _Catra’s_ right now. She doesn’t know why Catra wants their armchair in front of the mirror and she doesn’t need to know why. She just needs to do what she’s told, and that’s awfully nice. 

It only takes a moment to do, and then Catra orders her to be good and _wait_ without peeking, so she waits and listens to the sound of buckles and wonders if she’s completely soaked through her elegant white dress pants yet. 

“Hands on the vanity,” Catra orders from across the room, “close your eyes.”

Adora does as she’s told, surrendering herself to darkness and stillness and riding each cresting wave that is the pulse of her heartbeat echoing in her chest and her groin. She hears Catra come up behind her and then sit down in the armchair, feels Catra’s hands firmly take her hips and pull her back. 

“Okay. Open your eyes and come sit on my lap for a bit, princess,” Catra says smugly, and Adora isn’t sure _why_ she sounds so smug until she settles down and inhales a sharp gasp at the unexpected rigidity that presses against her. She squirms in Catra’s lap, confirming that _yes,_ Catra’s put their strap and harness on underneath her dress pants. “Like that, do you?” Catra preens, steering Adora to sit sideways with a rough adjustment on her thigh. Adora swallows _hard,_ tries not to be too obvious about the way she shivers and quakes at the way the bulge in Catra’s pants is pressing against her. “Good girl,” Catra murmurs, then reaches up and lifts Adora’s chin, turns her head to face the mirror. “Look at yourself. Look at how desperate you are.” Adora whimpers. “You know what you are? You’re _mine.”_ She gives a little nod, making eye contact with her own reflection - needy mess barely holding herself together, is how she’d categorize that particular look - and then looks at Catra - resplendent in her green and gold and black, eyes glittering with wicked confidence. Catra rocks her hips ever so slightly, pointedly holding Adora’s eyes in the mirror, and Adora _keens._

Catra’s fingers glide up her throat and then press at her mouth, and Adora parts her lips eagerly. Careful fingertips slip inside of her mouth, and she doesn’t even wait for an order before she’s gently licking, sucking, stroking with her tongue. Everything melts away but this one task, the pleasure of trying to make Catra feel good - everything, that is, except the throbbing in her groin and the insistent press of Catra’s hard cock against her. 

“What a good girl you are,” Catra murmurs in her ear. “You’ve been so patient. And so, so pretty for me.” Adora moans around her fingers. “I want to look at my beautiful, obedient princess,” she says, gently withdrawing her fingers. “Undress for me, Adora.” Her voice is raw, twinkling like starlight. “But leave the underwear on.” Adora whines in desperation at this last instruction - she’d thought maybe she’d _finally_ find some resolution, finally get bent over something and fucked senseless, but apparently that’s not the plan just yet. She stands shakily, regretting the loss of the strap pressing against her, but the sight of Catra in the mirror, sprawled in the armchair with her shirt unbuttoned and open and the crotch of her pants straining, is absolutely worth getting up for. In fact, she kind of hopes she’ll be able to sear this sight into her memory and return to it over and over for the rest of her life.

With trembling fingers, Adora unbuttons her blouse. She shrugs out of it, lays it on top of the vanity. She looks into the mirror, watches Catra watching her; Catra’s hand is stroking up and down along the clear line of the shaft in her pants, as if she’s keeping it nice and hard in anticipation of Adora’s return to her lap, and Adora watches with her mouth dropped open at how stupidly hot it is. Catra doesn’t say anything, doesn’t command her to keep going, just watches, and smirks, and keeps her hand moving lazily up and down, undoubtedly stimulating her own clit with the gentle pressure from the base of the toy. Eventually Adora remembers what she’s supposed to be doing and pulls off her bra, then unbuttons her pants and adds those to the pile of discarded clothing on the vanity. 

“Good girl,” Catra says, when she’s down to just the lingerie bottoms again. “Come sit.” 

Adora lowers herself into Catra’s lap and Catra adjusts her demandingly until the toy is pressed _just so_ against Adora through the fabric of Catra’s pants and Adora’s underwear. She hopes Catra will start rocking her hips again, but she doesn’t, just keeps the press of the cock _there,_ an unceasing reminder. 

“Arms behind your back, princess,” Catra murmurs, and Adora obeys. The movement draws her eyes to the mirror, and the scene laid out before her is… fuck. _Fuck._ There she is, naked except for the delicate, ornate pair of panties, her arms back and her tits out, her face flushed and her eyes dazed with need, sitting in Catra’s lap in a stately armchair while Catra remains composed, in control, dressed in formal clothes with only her shirt unbuttoned and a shit-eating grin on her face. 

Catra is going to be _impossible_ after this. Adora’s never going to live this down.

(She never wants to live this down.)

“Damn, we look good,” Catra says, echoing Adora’s thoughts. She drapes one arm around Adora’s waist and slides the other hand up Adora’s stomach. “All I’m missing is a glass of good whiskey. Do we still have any of that stuff Sea Hawk gave us?” 

“H - h - no, ma’am,” Adora gasps out in reply, as Catra gluttonously allows her hand to drift up and fondle one of Adora’s breasts. “We - we drank it all.” 

“Mm, too bad.” She pinches Adora’s nipple, and Adora jerks, and that makes the toy grind against her, and that makes her gasp, and _that_ makes Catra laugh and pulse her hips pointedly. “Fuck, you’re beautiful like this,” Catra growls. “And you’re _mine.”_ She toys with the nipple a little longer, teasing and rolling it between her fingers, rocking her hips, driving Adora mad with building desire. Catra’s hand drifts back down again, seizes a lusty palmful of Adora’s inner thigh. “Mine to use however I want. Isn’t that right, princess? That’s what you want, isn’t it?” 

Adora nods, and then Catra grabs her hair and _pulls._ She gasps, eyes flying open in surprise and (oh so good) pain, and again the jerk of her body just drives the inescapable pressure of the strap up and down against her. 

“You know I want to hear you say it out loud, Adora,” Catra scolds.

“P - please,” Adora whispers. “Catra. Please. I’m yours. Use me.”

“I can’t hear you.”

_“Use me.”_

“Good _girl,”_ Catra roars, and her face in the mirror is a burning beacon of violent lust so bright that Adora can’t hold eye contact with her for more than an instant. “On your feet.” Adora jumps up obediently, and Catra follows, pressing her back up against the vanity, up against the mirror, backs her against it and then she’s between Adora’s legs, pushing in, kissing and biting and grinding against her, claiming her mouth with clashing teeth and humping her with wild, impatient strokes through the fabric of their remaining clothing. Adora gasps and groans into Catra’s mouth, feeling the taut tension already pushed so far that she’s pretty sure she could come just from this. She starts to shake and yes, yep, okay, after all day being teased dry humping will definitely be enough for her to get off on, if Catra would just keep - 

Catra pulls away, breathing hard. 

“Get in the bed,” she growls, _“Now.”_

Adora nearly trips over her own feet in her eagerness to obey. 

“On your back,” Catra calls, stalking after her, shedding clothes as she goes. Adora hears the _flump_ of them hitting the floor, shimmies up into bed and turns around in time to see Catra - torso completely bare now - staring at her with a ferocious, predatory expression before popping open the buttons of her pants, pushing them down, and finally allowing the shiny black shaft of the strapon to jut out unrestrained from between her thighs. Adora has to grab hold of the blankets on either side of her at the sight, feeling like she needs to anchor herself to reality somehow.

Catra gives a dark chuckle at that reaction, and then climbs into the bed. 

She wastes no time, getting to her hands and knees and pushing her mouth against the feeble barrier that is Adora’s underwear. Adora’s so fucking pent up that Catra’s mouth through the layer of fabric feels just as good and incredible and erotic as what she remembers direct contact being like - but it’s a distant memory, like something from another life, because she’s been teased for _so damn long_ at this point that she no longer remembers what it’s like to _not_ be horny. 

And then, Catra is pushing her hips up, tugging the stupid fucking underwear _off,_ fucking _finally,_ and Catra’s mouth is _on her_ and her arms are wrapped around her thighs and her tongue is _in her_ and _against her_ and _hot_ and _rough_ and _slick_ and Adora is falling, falling falling, and - 

“No,” Catra snarls, pulling away suddenly. “You don’t come without my permission.”

“Fuck,” Adora whines loudly, thrusting her hips up again and again in supplication, _begging_ Catra to get back to what she was doing. 

“You understand me, princess? You _ask_ to be allowed to come.”

“I - ah - yes - yes, I - I’ll be good - I’ll be good, I’ll ask - I promise.”

“Good girl.”

And then Catra’s mouth is back on her, and her world dissolves into heat and pleasure and ecstasy and relief and trembling and convulsing and ah, fuck, fuck, fuck - she’s going to - she _has_ to - 

“Please!” she whimpers, “Please-can-I-come-Catra-oh- _please-please-I’m-so-close.”_

“No,” Catra purrs against her thigh cruelly, and Adora wants to _cry,_ she can’t _handle_ it, she _needs_ to come, she _needs_ to, she’s so _close -_

Catra rises up on her knees, lording over Adora, smirking mercilessly at the panting, heaving, begging mess that she’s turned Adora into. She reaches across the bed and then she’s holding the container of lube. She makes eye contact with Adora and doesn’t break it as she glides her fist up and down the cock, pupils blown with carnal desire, shoulder muscles rippling with the movement of lubing the toy, shadows playing along the column of her throat as she swallows hard. Adora can only lie there helplessly and watch, completely bewitched, completely belonging to Catra, and completely, utterly _soaked._

“What a good girl you are,” Catra murmurs hoarsely as she lines herself up with Adora’s entrance, covers her body with her own. “I’m so proud of you.” And then she thrusts inside, and Adora’s body explodes in starbursts of blinding bliss. It takes maybe five, six rough slams of Catra’s hips against hers before she’s already riding the crest of orgasm again, and then she’s begging, begging, and Catra is growling in her ear, gasping between each word, “Come for me - _come for me now, Adora - “_ and everything is just white noise and screaming, unbearable, overwhelming pleasure that seems to go on for hours and hours. 

Catra is gulping for air, their sweaty limbs tangled together and the toy still buried deep inside Adora, when she comes to her senses again. 

“Fuck,” Adora mutters. “Fuck.”

“Fuck,” Catra agrees. “I. Yeah. Fuck.”

They are quiet for a while, panting heavily in each others’ arms. 

After some time, Adora shakily asks:

“Did you come?”

“Yeah,” Catra groans. “When - when you came. Same time. Pretty cool huh.” She sounds dazed, flashes Adora a dorky grin. Adora can only smile weakly back. She doesn’t have the energy reserves to tease Catra for that goofy remark like she wants to.

“Yeah,” she says, and kisses Catra lightly, and then Catra kisses her back a little harder, and then she kisses _Catra_ a little harder, and then -

And then they’re both pulling away gasping, and Catra says,

“Hey - it’s uh - it’s - it’s after midnight, I think.”

“Guess it’s not your birthday anymore, huh,” Adora says breathlessly. 

“Guess not. You uh. You wanna. Maybe put the strap on and fuck me senseless with it?” 

Adora _laughs_ at this outrageous suggestion. 

“Normally - normally yes. But you’ve been fucking. Keeping me _very_ firmly in bottom mode all day. I don’t think I could top right now if the fate of the world depended on it.” Catra laughs, and the loose, giddy sound of it echoes warmly in Adora’s ears. She realizes Catra’s still wearing the leather necklace she made. Guess that wasn’t as much of a priority as getting the pants off.

“Okay,” Catra says slyly, “So, here’s my next suggestion. What if you put the strap on and I climb on top of you and ride you, and I’ll use you for my own pleasure like the good girl you are.”

An eager twitch of heat flicks back to attention between Adora’s legs. 

“That,” she says, swallowing heavily, “that I could do.” 

  
All in all, it ends up being one of the best birthdays Adora’s ever had, and it isn’t even her _own_ birthday.


	3. Leisurely

Adora’s bed in Bright Moon is, really, truly, much too big. It’s wasteful, it’s luxurious, it’s pompous, it’s _egregious._

And Catra loves it. 

She even learns to love the indefensible openness of the window, the way the morning moonrise splashes mercilessly through them every day and denies her the comfort of darkness and sleep.

She learns that there can be peace down here on Etheria, stolen here and there by bathing in the golden pools of that warm light, made all the better by her sprawling stretch and the way the bed so easily accommodates it. 

Their bed on Darla is fine. There’s peace - a surprising amount of it - to be found in space among the stars, too. 

But _oh,_ she really likes Adora’s bed. 

“I love you when you’re like this,” Adora murmurs from somewhere above her, and Catra smiles, the corners of her lips pulling up gently a few heartbeats before her eyelids follow their lead and drift lazily open. 

“Like what?” She tilts her chin up, both to get more of that warm morning light across her neck and to try to entice Adora into leaning in for a kiss. Instead of a kiss, Adora touches Catra’s upturned face, first brushing her fingertips along a cheek and then turning her hand to rub her knuckles against the underside of Catra’s jaw. Nestled happily between the caress of the moonlight and the caress of her lover’s touch, Catra purrs readily. 

“Like this,” Adora breathes, her lopsided smile putting a little crease into her cheek where an old scar interrupts the smooth plane of her face. “Comfortable. Relaxed.” 

Catra doesn’t have an answer for these words, only smiles wider, blinks slowly. She takes Adora’s hand in hers and brings it to her mouth to kiss more old scars. Her knuckles are full of them. 

She loves these hands. One big rough pad of a thumb, perfect, strong, so solid and good pressed hard into her hip bone, so careful and precise as it balances a pen against Adora’s index finger so she can sketch out the lines of a new map. Callouses from a lifetime of training that scratch just right as Catra arches her body into a back rub, that are barely whisper-there as their hands touch when Adora hands her the little pitcher of cream over breakfast. Catra kisses these fingertips, breathes in the smell of ink and machine oil and last night’s sex that are captured under her fingernails. 

“What’re you thinking about?” Adora asks, her voice as sure and soft as those blissful beams of light coming through the window. 

“Whole lot of nothing,” Catra replies, holding the back of Adora’s hand against her mouth and smiling into it. “It’s nice.” Adora’s smile climbs higher, claiming both sides of her face now and adding new creases. Catra loves these little secret lines, especially the ones at the corners of Adora’s eyes. She’s treasured those big, earnest, vulnerable Adora smiles her entire life, even before she understood what they meant.

She treasures them a lot more now, knowing they mean _I love you._

She places a kiss against Adora’s wrist; it draws a low, rumbling, happy hum from Adora’s throat that makes Catra’s libido awaken with an intrigued whisper. 

Adora’s eyebrow lifts ever so slightly, her smile pulling _just so_ into the beginnings of a smirk. 

“What?” She murmurs teasingly, turning her hand in Catra’s loose grasp and taking her chin with a barely-there grip that makes Catra’s pulse pick up. 

“How did you - ?“ the tone of strangled exasperation she’s going for is probably undercut by the big goofy smile she feels asserting itself on her face. 

“Your pupils went wider,” Adora answers, cool and smug, and Catra knows she’s blushing in response to the low, steady heat of Adora’s energy.

“Damn,” Catra replies, grinning, deciding to give herself permission to just _enjoy_ that heat, to relax into it. “No secrets are safe from you.”

Adora’s smirk softens back into a fond smile. Her thumb and forefinger surrender their delicate hold on Catra’s chin and stroke down her throat, slow and indulgent. Catra sighs contentedly, sinking back into the pillows. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Adora murmurs, and the flattery puts a shy twist in Catra’s grin, makes her writhe a little. Adora looks down, and her eyes have something smoky in them, something commanding. “So beautiful,” she says again, and Catra turns her head away sheepishly, feeling overwhelmed by the intensity of her stare and her words and her wandering fingers. 

And oh, those fingers have begun to wander. Adora’s hand strokes down from Catra’s collarbone to her pelvis, luxuriating in her fur, fingers splaying and then pulling back together. She runs that light, covetous touch down around the outside of one hip, down a thigh and to Catra’s knee. Catra inhales, raises a hand to cup Adora’s face - 

Adora withdraws her hand from Catra’s leg, gently takes her wrist and puts her arm against the mattress, pressing her wrist pointedly above her head in the pillows. Ah. Yes, that confirms the look she thought Adora was giving her. Catra turns to look at her and - 

The blazing desire in Adora’s eyes, controlled and simmering, holds Catra captive effortlessly. She swallows.

“Will you be good for me?” Adora asks, so tender and so crackling with heat. Catra doesn’t always like to be good. Sometimes she likes to fight, talk back, be roughed up a little. 

The languid energy of the morning has her feeling inclined, for once, to the indulgence of willing surrender. 

“I’ll be good,” she says, and smirks just a little. She’s _very_ relaxed, and a little bit turned on, but it’ll take a little more coaxing to get her further down the rabbit hole of her submissive side. 

“Good,” Adora says, releasing her wrist and then moving the other one up to join it. “Keep them there. I want to touch you.” The beginnings of a fire stir between Catra’s thighs both at Adora’s rumbling tone and the words themselves. 

So Catra lies back and leaves her wrists where Adora has so gently positioned them, watching Adora’s face and enjoying the way her acquiescence seems to stoke the passions of her obviously toppy mood.

Adora leans in and kisses her stomach; the drape of her hair tickles and Catra squirms and giggles. Adora smiles wickedly at her and then reaches for a hair tie from the bedside table; Catra enjoys the view with open interest as Adora stretches over to get it and as she sits up and the muscles in her arms move fluidly and unconsciously as she pulls her hair back into a loose, low ponytail. 

Adora watches her watching, grins with a knowing lift to one eyebrow. 

“Like what you see?” She purrs. 

“I do,” Catra answers, soft and unguarded. Adora grins wider, crawls back over and kisses Catra’s throat slow and hot and lazy, draws her hand from above Catra’s knee all the way up her side and to her breast. Catra huffs, lifts her body up ever so slightly into that touch. Adora toys so, so softly with her nipple, cupping her breast in one palm and drawing circles with the pad of her thumb. Her mouth moves down Catra’s throat at an agonizingly leisurely pace. By the time Adora’s lips settle around the nipple of her other breast, she’s having to actively remind herself to relax and surrender into it, fighting the urge to press against her, to reciprocate somehow. Accepting this kind of attention is a challenge, even though it feels so good - maybe _because_ it feels so good. Her breath starts to hitch as pleasure builds and radiates out from her chest, Adora’s mouth and fingers working with light, fluttering touches. 

It isn’t until Adora lifts her head and says the magic words that Catra _really_ starts to feel floaty.

“Good girl.” She fills the two, delicious words of praise with total sincerity, and Catra feels all the fur on the back of her neck prickle and fluff up beneath her. “You kept your hands in place for me.” She presses a kiss to the center of Catra’s chest; the feeling thrums through her like the burn of strong liquor, makes her wrists tingle like the incredible trust and tranquility that is holding her there is something tangible. “It makes me really happy,” Adora murmurs against her ear, now cheek to cheek, fingers stroking up and down Catra’s jaw, “when you’re so good.” 

Catra whimpers, her legs twitching as she fights the urge to rub her thighs together. 

_“So_ good for me,” Adora breathes, tracing her fingers along Catra’s lower lip. The words swirl up and down Catra’s body, gently urging each part of her to _give in, give in, give in._ So she does. She lets out a long, quiet exhale, furrows her brows and rubs her face against Adora’s in an openly needy gesture. “Oh, you _want_ to be good, don’t you?” Adora murmurs in response, all encouragement and approval and not a trace of mockery in her tone. 

“Yes,” Catra allows herself to say, the word slipping out of her mouth on the wings of another shaky breath. 

“Good girl,” Adora affirms instantly, and thrill unfurls eagerly inside of Catra as she allows her mental barriers to crumble. So often, her fears and her pride and her worries are all things that get in the way of really relaxing into letting Adora have control - they’re things that must be smashed through, walls that must be destroyed with fierce manhandling and growling and biting, loud voices that must be fucked to silence. 

Not that Catra doesn’t enjoy having her internal monologue quieted in that particular way - quite the opposite - but on the odd occasion that they do it gently like they’re doing it now, it feels like such a strange and wonderful and terrifying blessing to give herself to Adora and let her take those worries apart slowly and lovingly instead of by force. 

“Close your eyes, love, and just breathe for me,” Adora instructs gently, firmly. “Big, deep breaths.” Catra obeys, and between the way her body buzzes in response to just following the order, the way it feels to have her hands above her head and her body exposed as a result, the way Adora’s fingers hold and explore her face - it all combines to something undeniably erotic.

Total trust.

Terrifying.

But honest.

And… kind of incredible feeling. 

“That’s it,” Adora encourages, “Just like that. You’re already doing so well. Just breathe, and focus on my voice, and my hands.” She takes said hand and runs it from Catra’s chin and down her body. Catra whimpers, but it’s a soft, delicate little noise instead of a demanding one. Adora chuckles, kisses her temple. “You’re so sweet,” she whispers, and that makes Catra twitch her hips a little. She doesn’t believe that, not for an instant. How could she possibly be sweet? 

“Shh,” Adora murmurs, hand slipping down to Catra’s hip, drawing soothing circles against it with her thumb. “Just surrender to it. Give it all to me. I’ll take care of you.” 

Catra swallows and tries to focus on her breathing as Adora’s palm rubs back and forth up her inner thigh. Her eyes flicker open and Adora is looking _right_ at her, watching her face with such _intensity_ that Catra bites her lip and makes a throaty noise of surprise. 

“Keep your eyes closed, love,” Adora says, without looking away. The authority of her voice even as her strong fingers are wrapped around Catra’s thigh evokes a distinct _throb_ between Catra’s legs. “Do you need the blindfold?” Catra swallows, nods. She’s not sure she can keep her eyes closed on their own no matter how earnestly she’s trying to be obedient. 

Adora kisses her cheekbone, smiles approvingly. 

“Good girl for being honest with me.” Catra’s eyes _do_ squeeze shut at these words, as if trying to tamp down the pleasurable shiver that rocks through her. “Hold still, I’ll be right back.” Adora doesn’t have to go any farther than the bedside table to get the blindfold, but she knows the deeper Catra gets into subspace, the more sensitive she is to being left alone or _feeling_ like she’s been left alone. 

Catra opens her eyes and relaxes back into the pillows as she watches Adora get the blindfold, monitoring her own state. She feels good, loose and drifting like those thirty or so seconds between _awake_ and _napping._ Comfortably turned on. Safe. 

Adora returns with the blindfold and then sits up in the bed, stacking pillows behind her and leaning back.

“Okay, come here,” she instructs, smiling quietly, looking at Catra with something that could be reverence or adoration that burns wonderfully with how impossible it feels. Catra crawls up into her arms and Adora kisses her, cupping her face with the hand that isn’t holding the blindfold. “Good girl,” she murmurs in between kisses, and now Catra groans softly with it, feeling increasingly pliant and unguarded. “Now turn around.” 

Catra ends up nestled back against Adora’s chest, her arms crossed behind her back and sandwiched between their bodies. Here at last Adora slips the blindfold over Catra’s eyes, adjusts it to make sure no light is peeking through. 

Catra sighs happily. She leans her head back against Adora’s shoulder, allows herself to go slack and let her chin tilt up, throat exposed and head rising and falling slightly with the cadence of Adora’s breath. With Catra sitting between her legs, it’s a simple thing for Adora to hook her heels over Catra’s calves and tug her legs apart. With one of Adora’s strong arms looped around her waist and the other draped over her chest, palm resting on Catra’s neck, she is thoroughly held fast. 

Adora’s grip is so gentle, is the thing. It feels all-encompassing, but so wonderfully fragile, so willing to trust that Catra will allow herself to be held, that she’ll _stay._

Of course she’ll stay. Catra could stay like this forever. 

Left hand stroking a path back and forth between Catra’s stomach and her inner thigh, Adora’s right hand comes a little more firmly around Catra’s neck. No pressure, just a steady presence that wraps from side to side. Catra’s heart rate picks up; she feels herself getting wet at the implication of that hand, wants to rub her thighs together but allows Adora’s legs to keep hers pinned. 

“How are you feeling?” Adora asks. 

“Really good,” Catra answers honestly, losing herself to the rising tide of tingling warmth Adora’s generating with her various touches. 

“Should I tighten my grip?” Adora asks next, rubbing her thumb and forefinger demonstratively on either side of Catra’s neck against the pulse points just below her jaw. Her tentative approach makes Catra smile. Adora was - well, _mildly alarmed,_ suffice to say, when Catra first approached her with the request that Adora choke her a little bit as a sex thing. They don’t do it often, and it’s almost always when Catra explicitly asks for it, so this offer to do it in this caring, leisurely posture makes her feel warm inside in even more wonderful ways. 

“Yes please,” Catra whispers eagerly, grateful for the comfortable darkness of the blindfold because it means she can really focus on the feeling of Adora’s touch, of their bodies pressed together, of the shared beating of their hearts. It means she drifts happily in the smell of Adora’s arousal, feeling safe and cozy in her embrace as that hand around her neck starts to apply pressure.

“Good girl,” Adora murmurs against her ear, squeezing down with carefully controlled strength against those pulse points. It isn’t a crushing force by any means; she tightens her hold and then maintains the gentle grip, waits. Catra allows her whole world to narrow down to the leaping thump of her pulse against the firm interruption of Adora’s thumb on one side and forefinger on the other. She starts to feel lightheaded, focuses on breathing steadily. She surrenders to it; it only lasts a few seconds before Adora releases her. The giddy rush that follows the return of her normal blood flow is made all the more ecstatic by Adora’s soft, urgent praise and her fingertips tracing tingling lines up and down one of her forearms. 

She hears soft, keening little noises coming out of her mouth in response; she’s down, down, down firmly into bottom mode now. 

“You did so well,” Adora’s saying, and now she’s palming one of Catra’s breasts again, rolling her nipple between the thumb and forefinger she was just using to choke Catra. Catra whimpers, jerks her hips. “Good girl.” Adora’s other hand slips between her thighs. “You’re so wet,” she says in a delighted, aroused grunt. Catra trembles at the too-soft touch, trying so hard, so hard to be good, to stay still. “So wet.”

Catra whimpers when Adora’s hand pulls away from her, but then she feels a slick fingertip touching at her lips. She doesn’t wait to be told what Adora wants - she yields instantly to that touch, jaw slack and mouth soft, and opens for her. 

_“Good_ girl,” Adora purrs heatedly, and Catra gasps as she slips two of her fingers - coated with Catra’s need - inside her mouth. At the same time, the toying with her nipple becomes a little bit harder, transitioning from feathery to firm. Her core burns hotter, hotter, as Adora presses inside of her mouth with those fingers. Catra moves her tongue to welcome them, caress them, to drink the nectar of her own desire from them. “You are _so_ sweet,” Adora whispers approvingly. 

Catra can only lie back in the wonderful safety of darkness and being wrapped in Adora, held in place by her grip and her charisma and her care, and make desperate, throaty noises. Adora likes her mouth, and Catra likes giving Adora whatever she wants, so she relaxes her jaw and floats blissfully as Adora touches all her fangs one by one like she’s marking her territory. When Adora slips her thumb inside in place of her fingers, puts those fingers under her chin and then closes her grip, holding Catra by her lower jaw, Catra gives a low, loud moan around her thumb. Adora pulls her head around a little bit with this incredibly intimate handhold, and Catra limply allows herself to be manipulated back and forth, making more wordless, guttural sounds. 

“You’re my good girl, aren’t you?” Adora chuckles.

“Mmhmmm,” Catra agrees around the entirety of Adora’s thumb, which is so far in her mouth that the big knuckle is resting behind her top teeth. Each of her breaths bursts hard against Adora’s wrist, shamelessly audible like a beast of burden snorting against a heavy load. 

“Such a good girl. You’ve been so patient.” She eases her thumb back out of Catra’s mouth; Catra misses it when it’s gone. “So… very patient.” As she says this, Adora runs both of her hands greedily down Catra’s body, touching every part of her. Catra whines, arches into it. Adora holds both her breasts and chuckles again, pinching her nipples and holding her firmly as she jerks and whimpers and rocks her hips. “You’ll take whatever I give you,” Adora growls into her ear, and Catra nods desperately because she doesn’t really remember how to talk anymore. 

“Good girl.” 

She gasps as she feels Adora’s fingers finally sliding against her, dipping down and then back up again and dragging slowly against her clit.

“You’ll come when I tell you to,” Adora says, as her touch speeds up, becomes regular, steady strokes of hot bliss. Catra nods again, whimpering, shaking. Adora’s hold with her legs gets firmer, holding her legs open now using genuine strength as Catra writhes involuntarily at the mounting sensation. The grasp around her torso, too, is in earnest - even if Adora is still using that hand to toy with a nipple, adding to the cacophony of _good-feels-good-feels-so-good_ in Catra’s body. 

“Such a good, sweet girl,” Adora growls breathlessly, working her clit with a relentless hand. “You’re so beautiful when you come completely undone. So beautiful when you’re so totally, completely _mine._ You’d do anything I told you right now, wouldn’t you?” Catra cries out as Adora pushes her closer and closer to the edge, keeps her secure in her arms even as she thrashes. “Good girl. Don’t fight it. Let it happen. Let it take over. There’s _nothing_ but this, nothing but my hand, nothing but being _good,_ being obedient.” Catra’s mind is exploding into pops of color and bursts of light; she’s not sure how much more of this she can take. “And you _are_ good. You’re _so_ good, taking so much for me, waiting to come until you’re told like a good girl. Keep going, love. I’ve got you.” The intensity of the feeling from the fingers on her clit is so much that Catra thinks something inside of her might break if Adora doesn’t let her come soon. She wants to beg, but more than that she wants to be _good,_ wants to hold out as long as she can for Adora. 

“Almost,” Adora growls. “Wait. Wait.” Catra whines, a sharp, helpless note that does all the begging for her. “Such a good girl. That’s it.” Adora’s breath is hot against her neck as she snarls, “Come for me - _now,”_ and then bites down between her throat and shoulder and then everything _releases_ at her command. 

The orgasm takes Catra like a wild animal, ripping her out of body and replacing everything resembling conscious thought or self-awareness with a bright white blaze of pleasure that is so hot to the touch that Catra tries to shrink away from the relentless fingers that are causing the feeling, driving it, fuelling it and making it last longer. 

“Good girl,” Adora says, even as she’s still being burned alive by it, “Don’t fight me. Let it happen.”

And then she _does._ She stops resisting and it takes her _fully,_ without violence but so thoroughly that every single sense seems to stop working at once, and then every inch of her skin is tingling and alight with electrified bliss and she feels like she’s fucking _flying._

“Good girl,” murmurs that wonderful voice beside her, “good girl.” Adora kisses her face. Her arms have gone soft around Catra. 

Catra soars in her embrace for a while, and then she’s drifting, and then floating, and only then does she have the presence of mind to curl in and clutch tight and nuzzle her face under Adora’s chin. 

“You did great,” Adora is saying, stroking her fingers through Catra’s hair. Catra purrs, and purrs, and purrs. “You were so good for me. You make me so, so happy.” She thinks it can’t get any better, and then Adora moves a little and then Catra feels the blanket come up and over them both and _ah,_ yes, this is perfect now, the two of them snuggled together under its protective warmth, Adora whispering a litany of wonderful praise and rubbing Catra’s ears.

Catra falls back asleep for a while; when she wakes up, Adora kisses her forehead and asks if she’s ready to take the blindfold off. She nods, and even though the intrusion of the daylight makes her ears flatten, the sight of Adora’s giddy, bashful little smile makes it _entirely_ worth it and brings them right back up again. 

“What’re you lookin’ so cute for,” she mutters, grinning groggily. 

“It makes me feel… so special,” Adora says, blushing a little. “When you trust me like that.” 

Catra grins wider, leans in to kiss Adora’s nose. 

“You _are_ special. You, y'know… make me feel safe. And good.” The admission makes her cheeks go hot.

Adora leans up and kisses her; it’s a soft kiss, slow and full of tenderness like the rest of the morning has been. 

“I love you,” Adora says, with the same open fondness that she says the words _good girl._

“I love _you,”_ Catra counters, kissing her again, melting into the feeling of Adora’s sturdy hand on her lower back. 

“Can I get up and get you a glass of water?” Adora asks, when she pulls away gently from the kiss. 

“Five more minutes,” Catra asserts, wiggling decisively into the snuggle.

“Five more minutes,” Adora concurs, with a laugh, and settles her arms around her without argument.


End file.
